Jones was merely grumbling one of his proverbs, without
dreaming how appropriate the words really were.
Donald Pike had been nagging and tormenting the Chickering set. He had
bumped his toes against Ollie Lord's high-heeled shoes. In the lock-step
walk he had put his hands crushingly on Tilton Hull's high choker
collar. He had pitched against and torn Gene Skelding's flaring necktie.
And he had even dared to knock off Julitan Ives' hat and disarrange his
lovely bang.
At last, in his exuberance, he seized a handful of clammy soil that was
almost the consistency of mud, and playfully tossed it at Lew Veazie. It
missed Veazie, and, by an infortuitous fate, took Buck Badger smack in
the eye. Badger, who had seen Pike's antics, clapped a hand to his eye
with a grunt of pain and astonishment.
"You scoundrel!" he bellowed. Then he lunged at Pike, with a startling
suddenness that took Donald quite off his guard and threw him headlong.
Badger believed that Pike had thrown the mud into his eye purposely.
There had been bad feeling between them, and even worse, for some time,
and the gap separating them seemed to be growing wider all the while.
Each had said exasperating and belittling things of the other, and a
wall of hate had been built up where once there had been a bond of
strong friendship.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156